


Never That Easy

by 1000PaperCranes



Category: Max Steel (TV 2013), Max Steel - All Media Types
Genre: Amputation, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e26 Earth Under Siege, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000PaperCranes/pseuds/1000PaperCranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Forge meets his new arm for the first time at the very end of the episode everything is wonderful and nothing hurts.  </p><p>It wasn't that easy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never That Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Remember way back in Elements of Surprise, Berto reacts very strongly to Forge's rescue. He holds it together well enough until the danger has passed and then goes all 'I need an adult'? I applied that relationship to the aftermath of the Makino scout ships. 
> 
> Also, I know it's a kids show, but Forge never even screamed, and no-one is ever going to debate that traumatic amputation hurts like a sumbich.

Forge came around to the feeling of someone's fingers _inside_ his arm. Abruptly, he remembered having it amputated in the battle and the sensation changed immediately, became even more painful, encompassing not only the probing fingers but the stump and the entirety of his missing limb. His own breath clogged his throat for a moment at the spectacular agony of it all.

"S-Stop." The hands were moving efficiently, and did not so much as twitch in response to the quietly choked out word. "Stop!" Forge demanded breathlessly. He was louder, more intense, but not nearly enough so to cut through the rapid muttering that may or may not have been going on this whole time. He forced himself to move, tried and failed to shout yet again. "Stop, stop…" After another dizzyingly painful prod, Forge managed to grab a smaller hand. "Berto, stop!" Forge insisted, trying to clamp down with his fingers to make up for the weakness of his voice.

The familiar fingers hesitated, but did not stop. "It's not going to hurt less later." Forge almost surrendered, because Berto was right, but there's an unhealthy franticness underlining the genius that could not be allowed to continue. Forge managed to pull the hand in his out of contact with his screaming flesh.

"Come here," Forge croaked, pleading. The relief was delayed, but significant, when the probing ceased and after a moment Forge realized his eyes were _open_. Berto's face swam into focus, expression equal parts desperate, neurotic, and determined. There was no doubt that whatever task he was about would have been completed _successfully_ , if his resident wunderkind were allowed to continue on uninterrupted, but this was the right choice. Even if the pain would seem unbelievably worse later. Berto needed to calm down, or they would wind up doing this more than once, to get it _perfect_ ‒ or reasonably so. "C'mon. Please." Words like 'humor me' were just out of reach, but Berto seemed to hear them anyway.

Forge dragged on the hand in his weakly, grip relying almost entirely on the coarseness of Berto's calluses for traction. After a long moment, where Berto searched Forge's face and then stared consideringly at their bloodied fingers, Forge coaxed the teen to crawl carefully over him. Berto settled on the cot, sheltered in the curve of Forge's remaining arm.

'Still mostly a child,' Forge thought. Why did they all forget that? Because he'd seen so much? Because he'd always been so competent? Because adolescence was a luxury they couldn't afford? It had only been a year since Berto was his ward, but Forge had already nearly forgotten or set aside all the things that made him guardian.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby." Berto's head settled on his chest, eyes closed as he listened to the dichotomous rumbling of Forge's voice. "I'm still here." He felt the tension slowly draining out of the little body pressed against his side. "I'm alive, baby. I promise." As it slipped out of his mouth, Forge wondered, not for the first time, why he had chosen 'baby' for a twelve-year-old boy. It didn't matter, really, the use of the moniker soothed them both. Forge turned his head, to kiss his ward's brow. "We made it through," he said against bronze skin. "Baby, it's gonna be alright."

"It's gonna be alright," Forge promised again, stilling with his nose in buried in Berto's dirty locks. The sweaty, mechanical smell brought with it a flood of normalcy. They were going to have to start finding time for this parent-child thing. It kept their lonely souls healthy…

_"That can't be healthy." Forge turned the boy's head from side to side. "Yep, bath time."_

_"I'm not a baby." The six-year-old knocked Forge's hand away. He picked up his project, fiddled with it, and then very deliberately raked a filthy hand through his hair. It was an awfully cute snub. Forge grinned at the boy while he wasn't looking, fighting not to laugh._

_Schooling his features, Forge took the… whatever-it-was out of those tiny hands and set it aside. Before any protests could erupt, he scooped his brand new ward into one arm, carrying him away._

_"I'm not a baby." This was destined to become a running gag, because Forge liked toting the kid around. It made him feel parental._

_"Well, you're **somebody's** baby, aren't you?"_

_"No." Forge raised a brow, challenging him. Everyone had parents; it was a requirement. "I'm an orphan."_

_"Then who named you Roberto Martinez?"_

_"How should I know?"_

_Sassy little thing. Forge would just have to sass him back. "Well there. I guess you're just going to have to be **my** baby." The tiny child struggled in Forge's arms._

_"Berto." Said child scowled, daring his guardian to dispute his name._

_"Baby." **Of course** Forge met the challenge._

_"Berto." Scowl deepening, the boy crossed his arms over his chest._

_"Baby." Forge grinned; this kid sure was normal for a genius._

_"Berto," the 'brat' tried to stay angry, but his lips twitched with building mirth._

_"Baby!" Forge danced a little, jigging his charge like a mummer's parasol. "My baby."_

_"B-Berto!" There it was, a chuckle. Forge grinned up at his new child, watching intently as that shining little face contorted hilariously in an attempt to keep up the grouchy façade. Forge wrinkled his nose, wiggling it in a fair bit of cheating. Berto lost the game by giggling._

_"Baby!" Forge declared his victory, and reached up, tickling the boy. Little Berto squealed with laughter, grabbing his guardian's hair for balance. "Ow!" Guffawing, Forge tilted his head back, trying to relieve the sharp pull against his scalp. It did not work, but after a few more haring steps, Forge became acclimated and they continued raucously down the hall towards a much needed bath..._

'That never happened.' Forge woke from his doze, staring down at his ward's steel-black locks. 'But it does make for a nice fever-dream.' Berto had been older than that and more reserved, and Forge had never made as much time as he probably should. A twelve-year-old orphan was _independent_ , a genius one even more so, and Forge had quickly realized that it would take a village. Fortunately for him, for them both probably, NTEK had been so eager to pick up the slack that no-one had ever noticed Forge's parental failures, at least not enough to point them out.

It had been his care and patience with their little truancy, that had revealed a young Jefferson Smith as a stand-out. Even now, Jefferson was closer to Berto than Forge would ever be. His second-in-command always managed to treat their chief-science-officer as a social equal, intellectual superior, and chronological junior. All at once. Forge had never been able to find that balance, or anything resembling it.

Berto sighed in his sleep, hand flexing over one of the soft-armor plates embedded in the remains Forge's shirt. Mother of Mars, he looked young like this. The genius was still all gangling limbs and unmarked skin. He should be out fumbling with girls, not building prosthetic arms for thankless old codgers who forget to mind their surroundings in battle. Not that either of them would really change things.

Alright, truth be told, Forge would take his arm back. The pain was unbelievable. And the way it felt like it was all still there, and all hurting was breaking his brain. He reminded himself that Berto would fix the pain, give him his functionality back, _after_ the boy had had enough sleep to function properly. Briefly, Forge entertained the idea of painkillers, but this was not NTEK's first severed limb, and they knew from experience that he had to be a firing on all cylinders for the neuro-grafting to work right. Once it was over, they would drug him out of his gourd. If it still hurt. In the meantime, Forge would just have to make do with the next best thing. He clutched Berto a little tighter, taking comfort in his baby's presence.

**Author's Note:**

> And down here at the bottom, I'm going to beg shamelessly for reviews, because this fandom is nearly dead. I want to know if you're reading and what you think. I'm a hungry hungry review feaster and I need to be fed. Yum yum.


End file.
